


Super Short Smallville Stories

by scorpiris



Category: Smallville
Genre: Disaster, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-20 16:32:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiris/pseuds/scorpiris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>unrelated stories from the dusty remains of a drive. <span class="small">(click # to go to the latest story directly)</span></p><p><a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/889432/chapters/1863234">story #6</a>: Lex buys discount, because Clark is a show-tune singing cheapo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Between the Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Superman's words are for the world. But Clark's is for Lex.

With age, comes maturity. Lex believes that. He likes to think that he's not as obssessive, not as selfish anymore. But right now, global warming is testing his resolve. CNN's live ground coverage cuts off, turning back to the studio where some environmental expert denounces global warming theory in favor of some cyclical thing the earth experiences every few centuries or so.

Global warming or Planetwide PMS. It all means the same thing.

It's been more than two weeks since Clark left him at the dinner table with pomodoro kisses and a promise to return. Something that in other times would be benediction. The kiss was as though Clark wanted to draw as much energy from Lex as he could; find strength, convince himself. It was a full moon night when he watched Clark leave in a blur of blue and red.

Martha Kent appeared in the foyer of his penthouse early the next morning and hasn't left since. It's as though she knows what he needs, and maybe she does.

He can hear her in the kitchen beyond, talking harvest with his housekeeper. Between the both of them, the penthouse is all apple pie fragrance and farmhouse kitchen. Two weeks tasting like home, as close to home as he can be without Clark.

The scene shifts again from bright studio lights to murky brown and empty skies. Lex can almost taste death and devastation, stale and suffocating in his lungs. The same ground reporter as before, looking haggard, damp and bone tired. In a voice both thin and reedy, she announces that they are going to interview Superman.

High Definition TV makes blue and red both vivid and jarring. In a different time, Lex would've quizzed Clark about the self-cleaning properties of his suit. But today he only notes how sorrowful Clark looks, like yesterday, like the day before, like everyday since Superman arrived on the scene.

Pale too, like he can never be warm again. Cold like bodies found and returned so families can properly mourn their beloved. People believe that aliens don't have the ability to cry, that's what makes them so effective in the face of danger and despair. But Clark is there, under the strangely shimmering green of his eyes. And Lex grieves with Clark, hopes he knows.

Superman thanks everyone who shares most of his burdens here--relief workers, agency coordinators, the local populace, the world. _Thank you Lex._

Clark's voice can be heard underneath Superman's, calls to him. He can hear Martha walking into the den. Clark's voice calls to her, too.

"...glad to see more and more families are being reunited..." _I'll see you soon._

Lex thinks of hopes unsaid, wet and heavy like equator sunshine during monsoon season.

They're moving onto the next stage, Superman says, post-disaster recovery, reconstruction, rehabilitation. Find homes again for everyone, forge anchors for lost souls. _I'm coming home, soon._

Humans are tough, resilient, brighter, stronger than Atlas with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Superman believes in the future.

Lex closes his eyes as the scene shifts to a pre-prepared montage with sentimental music, all the minor keys of deliberate emotional blackmail.

A hand on his shoulder and he leans back to the only mother he knows in his adult life. Martha believes that Lex can put Clark back together again.

They believe, have faith enough for him who was born faithless. _Soon._

-end-


	2. On a Precipice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Survival Guide 101. At the end of the world... indulge in cliches.

Because Clark grew up with the kind of cliches that could only come out of well-meaninged mouths, Superman thought that this would be easy like one-two-three.

_Sincere apologies go a long way_

Yet, even though it began with an argument and ended with "I know you've known for a long time that I know you know but here goes", it didn't really mean that everything's alright again. 

And even though finally they put all their cards out in the open, I am this, you are that, yes you are right, no I wasn't thinking, it didn't really mean that everything's alright again. 

_There's no such thing as "too late"_

Even as they talked he knew, that this was less of a point of no return, and more of the inevitability they're both waiting for. It's not the good kind, and he wanted so much to convince himself that he knew it from the start. 

There's no choir from the heavens, no cherubs with fanfares, and the only light from the heavens burnt half of a national park that not even the torrential rainstorm that came afterwards could put it out. 

There's no peace, no closure, no lancing of a boil and cauterization of an oozing wound. 

_Truth will set you free_

He guessed that it was at least half-correct. 

It just gave them more ammunition, more power to hurt, more acceptance of the inevitable. Made him wonder whether deep down they're sadists and masochists in turn. Most probably, because this was the most free he's ever felt.

No longer holding back punches. No longer wondering, no longer hesitating. It gave them the freedom to hurt and maim and kill. 

And love each other without pretense.

And it was the most exhilarating experience in the world, this one and the next. 

For the longest time he never could understand how a species was able destroy a whole damned planet. At first he thought it was the damnedest kind of hubris. _His_ kind. 

_Blood is thicker than water._ Now he knew, like an epiphany.

"It's not your fault." The voice he loved so much. A quiet certainty rising above the thunderous chaos. His heart ached even as it sang. 

Lightning in the sky beyond. So far and yet it was tracing its way through every nerve he had. How could he feel so much that it defined the smallest and largest part of him; echoing even in the crevices that he never knew existed.

_It's not anybody's fault_

Above the rainclouds, beyond the stratosphere, only sun. "It's just the way we are."

-end-


	3. Neither a bird nor a dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lex knows what he wants.

The boy doesn't speak, merely looks at him, studies him like pollen crushed behind glass. A little thing whose breathing is as indecipherable as the wind whistling around him. Earnest eyes that can only belong to someone who has yet to understand fear, or maybe immune to it. 

Lex feels broken corn stalks under his back, the soles of his feet numb and a million miles away. The skies red as though on fire above him, a patch of corn burning beyond them.

The boy looks down at him with an unearthly calm that soothes him and terrifies him in turn. Lex can't think, can't breathe. Turns his head a little bit sideways, feels a splinter of something poke on his cheek. Now the boy sits by his head, near enough, surrounded by Lex's fallen hair. 

Small soft hands, warm and dry, on his brow. Wide brushing arcs, taking clumps of Lex's hair with each simple movement. Leaves him bare. The noose around his heart loosens. The stone weighing down his lungs rolls away. Sets him free.

There's darkness circling around the edges of his vision. He struggles to keep his eyes open. Lex wants to keep this bright-eyed boy, hopes his father will let him. Wonders what he has to do to get it. Him. A little boy. Not a parakeet nor a dog. Just a little boy whose parents must be looking for him. 

The boy hums. Lex sleeps now, uneasily and hopefully. Like a distant promise, come what may.

-end--


	4. The Moirais Have Lost Their Threads!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can't cut what you have lost.

He figured out that they cycle every one hundred forty years or so, this love-hate-love-hate thing he shares with Clark, the longest relationship he has ever found himself in. He has charts and simulations to prove it, too. At the core of his company's mainframe is a small file that charts the length of time he has spent on earth, a neat chronology of his life since his renaissance on a bridge a long time ago.

It is proof of how two beings, never human and never anything else, can hate and love so completely. Never really knowing why they moved on from one state to another. He gave it a little thought once, ended up being so drunk he was robbed three times in two days. And since it was their hate phase, help came too late like a sinister lesson he somehow had to learn.

There were days that they only lived and breathed anger, and there were nights when they only consider regret as a price they're willing to pay. To be honest, he was at his most creative at that time. His lab would turn into a patent machine, making things none in several galaxies ever knew they needed. Working stopped himself from feeling and the adulation of crowds his only fuel. Yet, at its height were desires so overwhelming that they could do nothing but succumb to passion, then love. And then to love so completely that each--really never one to be brought up completely optimistic--would begin to look around corners for the other shoe to drop.

Around the time of their first reconciliation, they swore to stop being so paranoid. Not that it was worth the air they breathed out, since both the Kents and Luthors brought their children up with their special brew of skepticism and secrecy. Love made them jittery, seeing ghosts and apparitions and motives that were not there. Finding and making problems that were not there, sealing their own downfalls like nothing else could.

Being in love made them wonder if there should be more, if they could push the boundaries of love even more than they already had. The perils of living forever, he thought. Years never mellowed them down. It just made them more obsessive. So the inevitable happened, as dumb as self-sabotage, as inescapable as... Well.

* * *

 

Today is a day in a string of love days. Somewhere on a nice little plateau of quiet idyllic days. Ringing in the new year's eve. Another year gone.

"I'm glad we're together this whole year," Clark says, low and fleeting, his last syllables already disappearing into dark corners.

He can only hum his reply, doesn't really know how to otherwise. What do you say, without succumbing to centuries-old platitudes? "There's not one good breakup record released all year at all."

"Even _The Solarbunnies_?" Clark asks, genuinely curious and uncaring at the same time.

Ten years ago, Clark came across a girl who looked like someone he had known a long time ago, the lead singer of a virtualska band. He bought an arena recording of their sophomore album. Lex didn't like the sound, but found out that the singer was a descendant of one of his ex-wives, though born and raised on Mars. Not by him, much to Clark's unexpected delight. Time had dulled the memories of that disastrous marriage, or at least it made him care even less about the past he no longer knew. The band matured, and Lex found himself buying them their own recording label for their fifth album.

"Especially them. Tis a bad year for them." Lex has always said that sunspots are bad for Martian songsmithing.

"Yeah. Don't think they'll be winning any prizes come award season." This Clark Kent is a journalist, less on the investigative side and more toward celebrities, music, and the perils of pop culture. Less of getting shot at and more of the traveling across the universe covering concerts in his patented color-blind hippie reporter getup and getting off his face on Janx Spirit.

Lex chuckles at the image from not too long ago. Clark coming back as pissed as a hothouse parrot one Winter's afternoon, the only color in the expanse of white and gunmetal gray. Clark must've developed telepathy because there is a matching chuckle that hangs low off the ceiling.

"Do you think this is it, finally? I feel like I can go on forever like this." Clark's words crisscross between the echoes of their laughter.

"Like what?" Lex isn't sure that he wants to hear the answer.

"Like this. Loving you, being with you. I hope we die loving each other."

Some days Clark sounds and looks like he was way back in the day. And Lex will feel like he is cradle robbing all over again. Jonathan Kent once said to him--during a rare, apology-filled speech many years ago--that he often forgot how fifteen and twenty one weren't a lot at all, didn't even know why he had harbored such animosity to a kid barely out of college. Then again, Lex was never young. Not really.

He remembers feeling bitter. But that was a very long time ago, so Lex isn't even sure what he should be thinking today.

"Does it really matter?" Lex wonders, probably out loud. "What's the worst that can happen, anyway?" He feels like they have cycled through so many permutations, everything has become more mundane, seems less unpredictable.

"That we die giving up on each other?" It is a question that Clark is pushing out of his lips, merely a question that shouldn't carry so much desolation in its wake. And there's suddenly a desperate need to make this better, even though Lex has no idea what 'this' is.

"Like that is a possibility. I don't think giving up is in the Luthor Handbook."

"Really? What if..." Clark is not willing to let go of it yet, even if he can't find the words for it. Yet.

There have been times when Lex can lie to himself about the reality of Clark Kent--wholesome, guileless, a savior worthy of every inch of Spandex he still wears. But there are also times when Clark shows how he is Lex's equal in every way, in each obsession, in each dogged stubbornness, especially now that he's not so sensitive to Kryptonite anymore.

"I don't know," Lex cuts quickly, "Can't say I'm looking forward to that particular end." Lex will have to come up with a distraction. Or Clark will, given the right motivation.

The room is dark, wide and womb-like at the same time. No light fixtures, no windows, nothing that can tell time, or tell them anything really. Yet, they can still feel it--the minuscule shift of time, like the cold marble floor beneath their backs and outstretched limbs. If he tries, he might hear the organic groan and shift of marble's crystal veins. Doesn't know when they've perfected their internal clocks, but they know another year has definitely passed, that if they step outside the door they can see for themselves a new year dawning.

But it has been years since tangible celebrations matter. Lex thinks of them as the artificial timekeeping of frightened humans with limited time on earth.

In the end, Lex thinks as he turns to his side, meeting Clark's familiar heat over such a small space between them, nothing really matters.

\--end--


	5. Home to Nest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lex makes the birds and bees story comes true for Clark. Sort of.

Throughout the years, Lex watched Clark become more free with sharing himself. Somewhere between their third and fourth breakups they had done away with promises of "from now on, only you". Somewhere along the line, the fairytale ending of faint hopes and wishes gave way to the realities of sowing wild oats. Though Lex would readily admit that he would always be the more promiscuous of the two, Clark couldn't be faulted for trying.

Especially since Clark found out he could never get a female pregnant. _That_ particular reality took down Clark's last vestiges of restraint, finally giving Lex ample proof that Clark really had no type. Clark never said it out loud, but Lex knew that Clark was worried about Jor-El's desire being coaxed into fruition through his offsprings--especially after the death of his human parents, the only people Clark could trust to raise any Kryptonian. Jor-El hadn't been pleased that Kal-El, his perfect son, turned out to be a blank-shooter, and there was nothing the AI matrix could do to alleviate this issue. One rare morning, it managed to worm its way into Lex's systems and grilled Lex about it, convinced that Lex had something to do with it. Only his luck that both Clark's fathers hated his guts beyond all rational reason.

Being unable to have his own children sparked something inside Clark. Kon-el was the closest he could get to having a son of his own flesh and blood, so he played the role of stern uncle, loving godfather, even step-father to children of his various friends and acquaintances, from Earth and other planets. Those were the roles he cherished most, even more so than being the superhero, the friend, or the enemy, protector of the world or destroyer of Lex's assets.

Clark even raised several of Lex's progenies, either alone or together with Lex. Never with other people, and for that Lex was infinitely grateful. Through those children, he learned about Clark what he couldn't by himself. Knew in not so many words that raising Lex's own was the best and worst gift he had ever given to Clark. This knowledge did wonders to his already inflated ego.

Most of those children had died, despite his attempt to prolong their lives, despite his attempt to spare Clark that kind of grief.

* * *

 

These days they don't need excuses to celebrate. Somewhere along the line, they've also learned how to prioritize and delegate. Lex can't really remember how it all started, but is quite sure it was somewhere between their tenth and eleventh get-together-agains. Now, they only need to show up in front of the other with an unspoken intent behind a smile, a toss of keys, or a coy glance towards clear night skies. And if the world isn't ending, everything else gets dropped and the universe adjusts accordingly.

Today, the sky is cobalt blue and the trees outside of Clark's apartment are uniformly vermilion red. Wryly, he notes how those colors, together with the building's cadmium yellow paint, send spasms of nostalgia through his head. He hastens his pace inside, and feels tension flees as he steps between the elevator's burnished silver doors, watches his reflection distorts on shiny surface. A short ride up, and the door slides open to a smiling face.

A large hand reaches through the space between them and Lex relinquishes his burden--two cups of coffee and an assortment of pastries. He follows Clark through the short hallway to an olive green door, admires Clark's ass wrapped in tan slacks.

Clark's apartment is large, ten rooms for when his many "children" come to stay. It is rarely empty, but today it is like a huge cavernous thing made of timber and summer solstice. They end up in the kitchen, half-submerged in assorted food. Somewhere along the line, Clark has learned to cook like Martha Kent, inherits her empty-nest cooking tick as well. The last of his 'kids' has left for college a few weeks ago, and Clark is trying to fill the void with food.

"You shouldn't have," Clark admonishes quietly as he finds a small empty spot to place Lex's meager food offering.

"I can see that now," Lex replies, helping himself to a bowl of pot roast from the stove, watches as Clark puts two of Lex's croissants--a plain butter one and a chocolate-filled one--onto a big plate, then drowning them in steak gravy. Lex tries not to wince. Clark grins unapologetically.

They eat in relative silence, high breakfast stools turned toward big bay windows overlooking a nearby river whose water is tinted an odd shade of viridian green that makes Lex wonder about possible algae infestation. An hour passes quickly, the both of them making quite a dent in the array of food, Clark more so than Lex. The last drops of coffee shared between light kisses, and they wrap up the remaining foodstuff under hungry beady eyes of manganese-colored pigeons outside Clark's windows.

* * *

 

The homeless shelter is located exactly in the middle of the way between Clark's apartment and Lex's suburban laboratory. The shelter takes the food and in return gives some knitted stuff made by the residents. Warm and tastefully made, Lex promises to use them publicly at least once during winter.

"So, what are we doing?" Clark asks, as he winds one jaune-hued scarf around his neck.

"I want to show you something at the lab," Lex downshifts his car as they pass a big baling truck.

"You don't have to," Clark says quietly. He rarely checks on Lex's experiments now, learns that anticipation is half the fun. But mostly because Clark is learning to trust Lex. Tells him so.

"I know," Lex says equally quiet, eyes on the road as he accelerates smoothly once more. "I know," he tries the feel around the word again. It feels like triumph, but mostly it feels like comfort. "But I still want to show you."

Clark makes a noise that sounds like "okay", nods a fraction as they go over a small molehill that wasn't there a few days ago.

* * *

 

Out of all his labs, and there are many, Lex likes this one the best. It is neither the biggest nor the most well-stocked. It doesn't make as much money as Lex hoped it would, but throughout the years Lex has learned that not all things need to be monetarily valuable.

Clear lead glass doors hiss their welcome as they walk through, footfalls echoing throughout pleasantly-lit corridors. Quiet otherwise. Lex has given paid leaves to everyone, even though most of his scientists would actually pay to be let to continue their work.

They take the tiny guest elevator down to the sub-basements to a place that holds Lex's latest hope and dream. There are many more doors and security checkpoints here, but each of them yields to Lex without prompting now, because Lex hates to submit himself to retinal scans, voice checks, swipecard locks or button-pressing. The building recognizes him. Lex spares a glance at Clark, and notes how Clark can't hide his amusement that Lex's building recognizes him too.

There's just one more set of doors, plain wood, like home, but still fire-retardant and explosion-proof.

"I thought you gave everyone a day off," Clark remarks, slowing down.

"I did," Lex replies, walking towards the door as surely as he always has.

"There's someone in that room," Clark speaks, voice low, like a conspiring soul. Lex halts, places his bare palm flat against the door's smooth surface. He twists around a fraction, and watches Clark's face.

"Not an employee," Lex replies, gladly noting that there's no fear clouding Clark's voice or eyes. Just curiosity, because Lex no longer experiments on humans or animals. One second. Lex pushes the double doors open.

* * *

 

Clark knows he has to say something, to staunch the extraordinary amount of nervous energy pouring out of Lex standing behind him. But the wide green eyes in front of him holds him captive, soft dark hair with russet hues swirling around that pale head mesmerizes him.

A baby. Curled, suspended in invisible air inside a miniature, clear glass womb-like replica of the healing matrix of his own AI. A million and one thoughts race in his mind, none of them catching on his tongue. So he flounders, like a noiseless fish. Until a voice greets him.

Lex's anxious heartbeats pulsing through the air that separates them. The sight in front of him. Hearing his birth mother's voice outside the familiar setting of his Fortress. It's enough to send him knees first to the ground.

* * *

 

Of course there's going to be a nice, comfortable couch in Lex's lab, and with a clear line of sight to the baby. A cool bottle is pressed onto his palm and Clark drinks from it automatically. He thinks he hears Lex's agitated voice, and the AI's flat-toned queries after his well-being. He ignores them both as he watches the baby sleep.

"Wh..." Clark aborts his first stab at a question with a cough and another drink of water. The empty bottle is taken away from his hand, a new one in its stead. Another gulp before he attempts to ask again.

Lex gives him an uneasy smile, and Clark can see Lex trying to form words, trying to give voice to his thoughts. Finally Lex settles on a wide arc of his slender hand, and a word. "Ours."

Clark follows the line of Lex's outstretched arm and settles his eyes once more on the baby. Theirs. According to Lex.

"Ours?"

"Yours and mine, and no one else's." Lex regains his composure quicker than anyone else, now that he's fairly sure that Clark isn't going to hit him or anything like that. "You're the first one he sees. Can't..." and here he falters a little, clears his throat and begins again. "Can't risk him imprinting on someone else that..." a deep breath, "...isn't you." Soft. Hesitating. As though Clark would reject him out of hand.

"Not even on you?" Clark asks after a heartbeat or two. His eyes never leaving the small figure of a miracle of science and sheer force of will.

"I've had many of my own, Clark," Lex chides, his hand now hovering over Clark's, not quite touching yet. "I think I can be magnanimous this one time." Clark can see how Lex surprises even himself with that pronouncement. Suddenly, there's no more distance between them, Lex trusting that Clark's not as dense as he pretends to be, and Clark realizing the gift for what it is. It is an easy enough decision to shelf other questions for later. Questions like how his AI is actually helping Lex and has been feeding Clark lies of omission. Questions about the baby, about there being "next times", and about the seahorses swimming in a water tank nearby.

Dimly he feels Lex's little kisses on his brows, fingers on the hem of his shirt. Lex's fingers cool against his skin. He spares a glance at the baby, still asleep. His and Lex's. Clark thinks about all the rooms in his apartment, empty and waiting.

Clark decides that there will be plenty of time to freak out later. There will be time to renew his fear of Jor-El manipulating his children. They will find time to go through every paperwork of the child, and yell about many of its details, past and future. There will be time for many things.

These days they don't have any reason to be celebrating. But maybe today is the beginning of their forever.

\--end--


	6. Referral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> buy one get one lifetime, or Lex buys discount. Because it's for Clark, who is a show-tune singing cheapo.

It was very bright and early when Lex appeared on Clark's doorstep, all fresh and casual-like. There was a smile on Lex's face because Clark wore a Lex-approved combination of button-down shirt and slacks. Clark deluded himself that he wasn't dressing to please. Lex told him that the driving seat of his Bugatti was Clark's reward.

It was even brighter when they pushed past those ornate double doors of the Lex's favorite jeweler. Clark made the requisite joke about Alexabeth Taylor, a traditional jab he started with Luthor-bride number how-many. It was that or an Alexandry the Eighth, Clark had said like a throwaway afterthought, but Clark couldn't imagine Lex as a violent overly fat king that blew up when he died. Lex deluded himself that it was his impassioned lectures that made Clark a history buff, and not the infinite reruns of Horrible Histories (but since it was Lex who bought the Complete Series Deluxe DVD box set, and it was Lex's wide screen TV and Lex's THX surround sound system in Lex's media room, Lex was going to take credit anyhow.)

Anyway, Lex always gave free rein to his each of his fiancees on wedding ring designs, but he always insisted on picking them up when they're done. He never gave them any reasons as to why, but to Clark he mumbled something about keeping them safe. Clark was added security. Never mind that nobody would dare rob a Luthor in Metropolis nowadays. Clark had learned to shut up about things, going along every time, despite swearing that each time would be the last.

It would always go like this. Lex was really big on traditions, somehow. Always a new car. A whole day affair, always early and always bright--as though Lex was secretly a weather mage. Then lunch, at their favorite restaurant--a place where, curiously, they never visited without the other. Then, either the museum or someplace new, followed by old haunts and fond memories. It was Lex's version of a bachelor's party, these days. A party of two. Always.

* * *

 

This time around, Old Giovanni wasn't there to greet them, having moved on to the great diamond mine in the sky a few months before. Today, a woman stood in his stead. Maria-Agnes was the only one out of Old Giovanni's dozen children who wanted anything to do with his business and she ran it much like the old man did. Lex liked her, and was more than amused to learn that Mercy and Hope didn't. They had a history, Maria-Agnes explained vaguely and Lex left it at that.

She produced two rings just as the two men walked into her store. Clark whistled when he saw the one “for her”. Every facet might as well had a Shirley Bassey signature soundtrack to go with it. Humming discretely under his breath, Clark noted that it had been a while since he saw such an outright act of gold digging, most of them tended to be a bit more subtle. Lex's ring was always the same design, the only one he could tolerate. Only one bride was stupid enough to force her design on him, Clark couldn't remember if she'd ever made it to the aisle.

Lex made some noise about paperwork and disappeared into the back office with Maria-Agnes, leaving Clark alone in a room full of expensive things. It was deathly quiet; Clark thought he could hear minerals grow under glass. The store was always closed whenever Lex had an appointment there, not one employee, not even a single security guard.

There's no clock he could see, and he had forgotten to wear his watch. But he was sure that Lex had been gone an awful long time. He tried not to eavesdrop, because he would never misuse his powers like that, no siree. Maria-Agnes was not currently in a relationship, he remembered being told. He thought that she and Lex would make a handsome couple. Better than Lex and Lucinda Lucas, anyway. That go~ld-dig- _gah_.

"Are you humming James Bond?" Lex materialized out of nowhere, almost sending Clark into the nearest display case. Lex had an amused look on his face.

"Uh... are you done?"

"Almost," Lex said as he sat back down across Maria-Agnes, who seemed to be a master at materializing out of nowhere too. Lex scribbled something on the store's stationery. Even without his super-squint (as Lex called it), he could pick out Mrs. B's name from amongst Lex's scribble. Clark couldn't believe he actually forgot Lex's Metropolis cook's wedding anniversary. Though it seemed Lex hadn't. Looking away from the paper, Clark suddenly found him trapped under Maria-Agnes's heavy gaze.

"So, Clark," she began, leaning across glass towards him. A subtle scent wafted towards him, like those flowers his mother really liked. "Why don't you ever buy anything from us?"

"Uh..."

"Papa liked you, you know. Used to design stuff he hoped you could use," she said with a sad smile. "They sell well, those designs, even now. You're like papa's unofficial muse." She leaned back. "So..."

 _What do you say when you get told things like that_ , Clark wondered. For all his journalistic abilities, he would always remain socially tongue-tied until forever.

"Don't let her talk you into things. Sob stories sell well, you know. Oldest damn trick in the book," Lex turned around on his seat, sliding pen and paper across the surface towards Maria-Agnes's waiting hands.

"Well," she shrugged unapologetically. "But seriously, not even a tie tack? Small aquamarine detail? Agate? Pāua shell even?"

"Next you'll be offering him some cz," Lex smiled fondly, even as Maria-Agnes crossed herself earnestly.

"We have some great installment plans, Clark." Maria-Agnes could recognize a susceptible prey if she ever saw one.

"Once you get into debt with her, you can't get out of it, though," Lex added, smirking at her glare.

"These are on discount," she said, already pulling out a tray, followed by another. Clark saw rings, bracelets, tie pins, cufflinks, and stuff he didn't even know the name of, never mind the use of. "And completely in your price range."

"I have a price range now?" Clark squeaked in the face of defeat. Jewelry buying was definitely not on his list when he walked in here, but it seemed that he wouldn't be able to leave without one.

"Just pick one, Clark, before we lose our lunch reservation." Although Lex looked like he wasn't in a hurry at all.

"All the standard services, free engraving, lifetime warranty," she smiled sweetly as she watched Clark lean down to peer at the trays. "I'll even shine them myself whenever you want,” she said, waggling her eyebrow suggestively.

Clark hemmed and hawed over one particular tray, and almost took a finger in his eye when he moved the same time she pointed. "How about this ring? Simple, manly, not gaudy but heavy enough to leave a bruise when you punch someone's face with it."

"It looks nice," Clark hedged. The ring twinkled at him.

"I'm willing to bet it's in your size too, so you can walk out with it right now," she grinned.

"We'll take it," a Lex-sounding voice chirped from somewhere beside him.

"We?"

"I'll pay for it, and you'll pay for lunch. There's no way you're taking a credit line here. Loan sharks are remoras compared to her." Content with his decision, Lex slid off his seat to get a good look at Clark's ring. "Good choice." Lex commented idly. "So, shouldn't I get a referral reward?" Lex asked, twirling his newest acquisition between his fingers.

"Not applicable on discounted products, Lex," Maria-Agnes parried from under the counter with all the boxes and ribbons.

"This is how you treat a loyal customer. My business put you through college, you know," Lex chided, even as he blindly reached out for Clark's hand, sliding the ring down one finger, a serious look on his face. "Perfect," Lex commented possibly to himself. "She's always good at guessing ring sizes," he told Clark unnecessarily, but Clark was too stunned to give a rejoinder.

"Not guessing!" she digressed, placing two boxes in a paperbag and sliding it across towards Lex. "Here you go." She walked around the counter and ushered the men towards the front of the shop. "I'll send all the rest to the addresses you gave me."

* * *

 

It wasn't until they pulled out of the parking space, that Clark began to come to his senses. Two more traffic lights, some more dawning. He could see the restaurant from here, just beyond the park and two rows of parked car.

"Did.. did you just buy me a ring?" Clark wondered what kind of a question was that. It sounded lame even to his ears.

A car pulled out of a tree-shaded parking space. Clark found himself impatiently waiting for the light to turn green.

"Quick, grab that space!" Lex stated the obvious while jabbing his finger against the windshield. "I think the pink Ferrari behind us wants it!" Clark peeked through the rearview mirror to confirm that, yes, a shade of pink such as that did exist in this universe. Lex sounded more affronted about a pink-colored Ferrari than of the prospect of losing a space.

Clark maneuvered the car neatly into the space, in a way that would honor the name of his first driving teacher (Jonathan Kent) yet still give the car's vanity plate justice.

Clark watched Lex frown as the pink Ferrari zoomed by, then overtaken by a Honda convertible. He couldn't quite see the driver of that car, but he didn't quite care. "Lex, I asked..."

"Referral reward," Lex quickly replied, cutting Clark's interrogation attempt with a shaky grin. “Do you know how hard it is to get freebies from that family?” Lex fished out a box from inside the bag. Triumphant.

Clark opened the lid and felt an odd rush of blood to his head. A ring sat in the middle, reflecting the sun even through the shade. "Simple, manly, heavy," Maria-Agnes spoke in his head. He took it out, held it in his palm. It nestled next to the outline of the one he's wearing, and Clark marveled at its symmetry. It wasn't like any ring Clark had seen Lex order for himself, not the shape, definitely not the price. Clark looked up and saw Lex studying him. Serious, and open and very dear.

Clark didn't have the years of experience Maria-Agnes had with people's fingers, never made anything for Lex to wear like second skin. But Clark saw it in Lex's eyes, and heard it in the soft exhalations and the murmur of heartbeat underneath. He felt it in the thrum of engines and the chaos of the world outside. He knew that if he were to be daring this once,

to cross this last distance, reach out,

and slide it home, it would be...

"Perfect."

\--end--


End file.
